


Coping Strategies

by AeveeItazura



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Other, Suicide mention, drug mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 20:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6822364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeveeItazura/pseuds/AeveeItazura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>White's coping strategies hides deeper issues then Billy expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coping Strategies

Closing the flimsy door behind him, he takes a shaky breath. Running a hand through his hair, he can feel the tangles and knots.He knows he looks like crap and doesn’t care at this time about things like looks or being presentable. Running his hand over his mouth, he can feel the stubble rasp against his pale skin. Looking through the small window, eh can see his partner curled up upon the couch, exhausted after his ordeal. So is he, but he needs to unwind. Making one last check that the young man is sound asleep, he pulls out a frayed leather case from the hidden pocket in his salmon pink shirt.

The safest place to keep his biggest secret from the man sleeping on the couch. The case opens with a click and he breathes in the aroma. The mix of worn leather and marijuana has a very calming effect on him. He knows Billy would kill him if he knew what he was doing, but ever since Billy started getting kidnapped on a regular basis, he needed something to deal with it all. And this was the best thing he could find. It was legal, but only just. With a practiced hand, he grabs one of the rolled joints that have been prepared for such an occasion and then closes and stashes the case back to it’s hiding place. The joint in his mouth, his eyes dart and sees Billy still on the couch.

Reaching into the underside of the cheap aluminum roof, he feels around for a small flimsy square. The small square is found and he quickly takes a match from the book emblazoned Conjectural Technologies and stashes the rest. Striking it against his sole, lighting the forbidden joint, he tosses the spent match to decay with the rest of the trash outside the mobile home. Closing his eyes, he melts into the side of the trailer. He inhales the toxic smoke, holding it until the familiar burn stretches his lungs, and exhales softly, the cloud dissipating as it forms. Without a warning, he hears the trailer door slam open. He looks over, and sees Billy glaring at him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Billy yells. “Pete, we talked about this. No drugs in the trailer.”

"What are you talking about?,“ Pete says, hiding the incriminating joint behind his back.

"That,” Billy says, pointing behind his back. “Is what I am talking about.”

“Oh, this?” Pete asks, looking at the half smoked joint. “I was just trying to relax fella.”

He watches the shorter man’s shoulder fall, tension on his brow. His signature brown suit is rumpled and his thinning orange hair is in desperate need of a shampooing. The undid tie makes him look years older and the dark bags under his eyes don’t help. Pete braces himself, waiting for the incoming shit storm that he can see brewing.

“What the HELL do you have to relax from?” the dwarf roars. “All you do all day is play Rock Band and help old ladies send emails to their grand kids. Why would you POSSIBLY need pot to relax from that?”

“That is not what stresses me out,” Pete says, idly playing with the smoldering joint.

“Like what?” Billy asks, rolling his eyes. “You don’t do anything. You play games all day or hang out with Rusty when I’m not here. Lots of stress hanging out with your best friend. He is your BEST friend, right? You guys were inseparable in college. Remember?”

“Now that is uncalled for Billy,” Pete says. “Whatever Hatred has been telling you is crap and you know it. He kidnapped you once, remember?”

“How can I remember one of the million times I’ve been kidnapped? It happens at least once a week. And you just go along your day, while I don’t know if I’m going to make it out alive,” Billy yells. “Like you care.”

“Like the hell I don’t!” Pete yells, something inside himself snapping. “Why the hell do you think I’m at Rusty’s when you come back? Because Hatred or Brock drag me there. Last time they didn’t I—”

He cuts himself off, not needing his pity or his concern. With shaking hands, he takes another puff from the joint, trying to reclaim his lost cool. He looks at the dark sky, the stars bright over the near desert. He hears the worn wood of the porch creak as Billy comes closer. Looking down, he sees Billy looking up at him, concern in his one remaining eye.

“White, what did you do?” Billy asks.

Taking another puff, he exhales shakily. He never wanted to tell Billy this. Not if he could help it. The look in Billy’s eye tells him that is not a possibility. Not caring, he takes a long drag off the offending cause of this argument to help steady him.

“It was a few years back,” he starts. “You were doing that surgery on one of those scorpion themed villain. You were gone for a week. While you were gone, I heard on the news they found a body in the river wearing those Rusty venture pajamas.”

“White, what did you do?” Billy repeats, his voice shaking.

“Just passed out in the desert after going on a bender.,” Pete says. “ Rusty was looking for me when he killed his first computer with that trojan he picked up. ”

Billy sits on the porch, at a loss for words. Pete offers the joint to Billy, and Billy takes it gratefully. Looking at the forbidden object, he considers the half burnt cigarette. He looks up at Pete expectantly.

“Short inhale, hold for a second, exhale,” Pete says. “Remember that time you tried to pick up smoking? Same thing, really.”

“I know how to smoke, White,” Billy grumbles.

Pete waits as Billy takes a drag from the smoke. Immediately, Billy starts coughing, almost dropping it. Pete pats him on the back until the coughing subsides. Pete slides down the side of the trailer, joining Billy on the porch. He nods when Billy successfully takes a drag from the cigarette without nearly coughing his lungs out.

“Hey Billy, isn’t that fella from NCIS voicing the peanut on that M&M commercial?” Pete asks.

“No, it’s the guy from Law and Order. That psychologist guy,” Billy says. “he’s also in one of those insurance commercials.”

“That’s the same guy?” Pete says, looking at Billy.

Billy sighs, handing the joint back to Pete. Pete can tell it’s going to be an all nighter with Billy telling him every last thing that the guy has been in since Law and Order. And quite possibly everything that the guy from NCIS was in as well. Leaning back, he smokes the rest of the joint, flicking the last burning ember into the sand, keeping his eyes on the stars as Billy rants the night away.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Pete/Billy fic ever written.


End file.
